


Johnlock: Fact and Fiction

by LaughingAtLiveDragons



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:19:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingAtLiveDragons/pseuds/LaughingAtLiveDragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has hurt his ankle, and John has to take care of him, even though the great detective turns out to be quite stubborn about this whole ordeal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction. Feedback is always welcome!

“Freak,” a voice said. But it didn’t stop there. The word continued to echo through his head. It gave him a headache. Why were some people just so eager to judge other people?  
“You don’t belong here,” another voice said. This voice, it sounded so familiar. “You belong in hell. You deserve to die,” A face started to form in his head. “I don’t want you anymore, freak.”

Sherlock woke up from this terrible nightmare. He was sweating heavily. Then he started to remember parts of the dream, the voice, the words, the face. Oh god, the face. It was John. His best friend, his only friend, had said to Sherlock that he didn’t want him anymore.  
Sherlock turned on his back and put his hands behind his head. Why did these words hurt him so much? It was only a dream, he told himself. There was nothing to worry about...  
Sherlock took a glance at the alarm clock. 4.21 AM. John was probably in a deep sleep and Sherlock should go to sleep as well. After that last case, which included running over rooftops, he somehow sprained his ankle. John told him to rest his leg, but now Sherlock felt so frail and weak. He never really noticed how a human body could be so fragile. Up until now.  
Sherlock tossed and turned a few more times in his bed, before he finally decided to work on an experiment. He couldn’t go back to sleep anymore, so why not be productive instead?  
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stand up. He would’ve thought his ankle was okay by now, but the opposite was true. Sherlock tried not to curse when the pain shot through his whole body. He tried to hold onto something, but without a light source, he couldn’t see what he was doing. He stumbled forward and hit his ‘good’ foot on a small wooden cabinet, on which a vase once stood. Stood. That particular vase, which Mrs. Hudson once put there, to decorate the room, she had said, now lay in a thousand broken pieces on the floor.  
Then an awkward silence commenced. Sherlock stood utterly still, hoping John wouldn’t have heard a thing.

John got woken up by a loud bang, followed by the shattering sound of glass. He grumbled, opened one eye to look at his alarm clock and then remembered Sherlock’s hurt ankle. He quickly got up and walked towards Sherlock’s room. He didn’t even bother knocking, he just walked into the room and switched on the lights.  
Sherlock looked with puppy eyes towards John. Damn, so he did hear the noise.  
“Sherlock, what are you doing? I told you to rest your leg.” John said, as he walked towards his flatmate.  
“Bad dream,” Sherlock mumbled. John shook his head and touched Sherlock’s shoulder, ordering him to sit back down on the bed.  
Then something happened that Sherlock didn’t expect. He didn’t mind John touching him, but somehow his subconscious remembered the dream and his arm jerked back, to break off the contact with John.  
John frowned. This never happened before.  
“Sherlock, are you alright?” he asked with a concerned voice. Sherlock looked up to John and then towards the floor, at the broken vase. He kind of loved that vase.  
“Yeah, it’s nothing. I’m fine, John.” Sherlock responded. Again, he felt a stab in his heart. He wasn’t fine, he had a bad dream and he just wanted to curl up with John and stay like that forever.  
John took a look at Sherlock’s ankle, saw that the damage to his foot wasn’t that bad and then continued to remove the shards of glass that lay all across the floor. 

After half an hour, John was back in his bed again. Why didn’t Sherlock ever listen to him? He could be so stubborn sometimes and it irritated John immensely.  
It didn’t take long for John to fall back into a deep slumber. He was so tired after a busy week at the clinic and running around rooftops at night.

But Sherlock didn’t go to sleep just yet. He was analysing his own thoughts and his reaction to John touching him. It was just his shoulder, why did he react that way? Sherlock got annoyed at himself. Not only was his body weak, his subconscious was also being a nag. And why had John said such a horrible thing in his dream? Well, that’s the point right, of it being a dream? It’s not real. It has probably nothing to do with the reality...


	2. Chapter 2

John had a day off today, so he decided to visit his girlfriend Sarah. He had been kind of neglecting her lately because of Sherlock and his cases.  
He got up, took a shower, put on his best clothes and walked into the kitchen. Sherlock wasn’t there, so John walked towards Sherlock’s room. He knocked on the door.  
“Sherlock, can I come in?” he asked. He heard a muffled sound from the other side of the door and accepted that as a ‘yes’.  
Sherlock lay diagonally in his bed, cradling a pillow close to his chest.  
“Hey, how is your ankle?” John asked as he walked towards the bed.  
“Nothing has changed much in four hours time.” Sherlock said, a bit condescending. John looked down on Sherlock and his pillow, and sighed.  
“Well, I guess that is good news,” John said and walked towards the door. There he halted. Somehow he got the feeling that he hurt Sherlock in some way that he wasn’t aware of. He decided that he should make it up to him, for whatever he did.  
“Shall I make you breakfast?” John asked.  
Another muffled sound came from Sherlock’s end. And again, John accepted that as a yes.  
“Okay, breakfast’s in ten minutes.” He said and walked towards the kitchen.

After fifteen minutes the table was covered with two plates of delicious looking omelettes, baked beans and toast. Sherlock just walked in slowly, trying not to put much weight on his foot.  
“Just in time,” John said as he sat down and started eating. Sherlock looked a bit surprised as he sat down. Why did John put so much effort into it? He shrugged inside as he started to eat.  
“I’m going to Sarah’s today, so I won’t be back until after dinner.” John said. Sherlock nodded. Somehow he hated the fact that John had a girlfriend. Could this be jealousy, he thought.  
John cleaned up and put on his coat.  
“Don’t try to hurt yourself in the meantime, or blow up the apartment.”  
“Yes, yes, fine.” Sherlock replied as he grabbed the newspaper.  
And with this warning John left the apartment.

As soon as John had left, Sherlock thought it wise to take a shower. It still bothered him, the dream and how he had reacted when John barely touched his shoulder. It even bothered him that John sounded a bit irritated and disappointed this morning. Sherlock now also felt disappointment, mostly for himself.  
“Freak,” it continued to echo through his head, until he couldn’t stand it anymore. As fast as he could, Sherlock walked towards the bathroom, took off his blue satin bathrobe and turned on the cold water. A cold shower would do the trick, he thought. Water would calm and soothe his pain. Mentally, but also physically.  
The water hit his shoulders and then it trickled down his back and legs. Then it disappeared. At first, the water hurt him and Sherlock could see his arms and legs turning red because of the cold temperature. But he didn’t care. He just closed his eyes and surrendered to the feeling.  
Somehow, it worked. The voices left his head and Sherlock felt calm again.

After what seemed only minutes, Sherlock stepped out of the shower, dried himself off and put on his favourite dark purple shirt and a pair of black trousers. He glanced at the clock on the wall and was a bit surprised when he saw that he had spent at least an hour in the bathroom. No wonder his skin was tingling all over.  
Sherlock shrugged it off and walked carefully towards the living room. He sat down on his favourite piece of furniture and picked up his violin that lay on a nearby table. In a non-particular order, he started to pluck on the strings. The sounds seemed sad and melodramatic, just how Sherlock felt.

Suddenly, the door flung open and a bewildered John came bursting in. Sherlock took one glance at John and knew immediately that Sarah had broken it off.  
“Welcome back, John,” Sherlock said and put his violin back on the table. Now was definitely not the time to annoy John with his music.  
John mumbled “Thanks”, took off his snow-covered jacket (it was December after all, snow was bound to fall this month) and quickly headed into the kitchen to make some tea.  
Sherlock decided something needed to be done, but he was never good with such things, like comforting people. He never had any friends up until now, so he didn’t really know what to do.  
He followed John into the kitchen; his back was facing Sherlock at this moment.  
Sherlock hold out his hand, to touch John on his shoulder, but it never got that far. His hand was an inch away from his friend, who had looked kind of sad when he walked in a moment ago.  
This is what friends do, right? Sherlock thought. And just when he got enough courage, it was too late. John turned around and was a bit surprised when he almost bumped into his flatmate, his hand hovering in mid-air.  
Sherlock could now clearly see the sadness in John’s eyes.  
“Are you alright, John?” Sherlock managed to ask, as he quickly pulled away his hand, hoping that John wouldn’t have noticed.  
“No, I’m not,” John replied blatantly, as he stared into those icy blue eyes. Sherlock remained silent. “Sarah and I just broke up. She said I seemed really distracted lately.” He said as he walked into the living room, holding a steaming cup of tea.  
Sherlock followed him as quickly as he could, because the pain is his ankle had returned. They both sat there in silence, the snow outside slowly piling up…


	3. Chapter 3

Both friends sat a moment in silent. The snow was outside, still falling. Luckily the fire was burning nicely and warming up the room.  
At last Sherlock spoke. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he managed. John shrugged.  
“I probably wasn’t her type anyway.”

Then, out of the blue, Sherlock sneezed and started to shiver. Damn, he thought, maybe a cold shower wasn’t such a good idea after all.  
John looked at Sherlock. First his ankle, now a cold? But Sherlock rarely got sick.  
“Did you go outside today? I told you to rest your leg, you never li-“ John began, as he put his cup of tea down on the table, but Sherlock cut him off.  
“I didn’t,” he said firmly.  
“What?”  
“I didn’t go outside today, because I knew you’d be furious if I did.”  
“Oh,” John said, a bit surprised. “I’m sorry then, I’m just a bit on edge.”  
“No it’s alright, John. I don’t blame you.”  
A new silence fell. Sadness filled the room, while the snow kept falling. John quietly sipped a few more times from his tea.  
“Hey, want to go out tonight for dinner?” Sherlock suddenly asked. John just responded with a questioning look.  
“This is me trying to cheer you up, you know,” Sherlock continued as he forced out a smile.  
John thought about it for a moment. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea, because Sherlock somehow knew all the good restaurants in the city.  
“Alright,” he said and within moments they were outside, collars turned up to be a bit protected from the cold, icy wind.

John’s hand was luckily quick enough to catch Sherlock from falling. Again, Sherlock’s body protested in an odd way.  
Somehow, Sherlock had misplaced his painful foot and immediately a sharp pain shot through his leg. He would’ve fallen if John wasn’t there.  
“Please be careful where you place your foot. It can be quite slippery now,” John said, as Sherlock tried to regain his balance. “Here, you can even lean on me if you want.”  
Sherlock shook his head. “That is not necessary, we’re almost there.”  
His ankle really hurt him, but he didn’t want to make his friend worried. Plus, the dream was still in the back of his mind. Did John also think Sherlock was a freak? He sighed and the two friends continued their way in silence.

Once they got to the restaurant they sat in a quiet corner of the place and both ordered soup for starters. John had a lovely plate of spaghetti Bolognese and Sherlock had a plate of cobb salad.   
During dinner Sherlock sneezed a few more times.  
“How come you’re sneezing this often?” John asked, a bit concerned for his flatmate. “Because it sounds as the start of a nasty cold.”   
“I took a cold shower this afternoon, spent too much time in it, and apparently that hasn’t done me any good.” Sherlock replied as he ate his last piece.  
“No I can see that. As your doctor I order you to stay in for a few more days, so you can rest your leg and don’t get any sicker.”  
Sherlock grumbled. He hated staying indoors. It was so boring. Lestrade hadn’t phoned for a case either, so all that remained was crap telly.   
“And why did you take a cold shower? It’s December. If you want coldness, you only have to step outside.” John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.  
“Research. I wanted to know how the body would react to cold water.”  
“Right. Mind you, I’m not going to pay the bill if you continue doing this, you know.”   
John also put his fork down. This was the best food he’d ever had, and it wasn’t even that expensive.

As they walked outside, it had stopped snowing. The sun had set a long time ago, and now the stars shone brightly in the sky. The streetlights made the snow almost light up with a yellow orange colour. It looked absolutely stunning.   
John hailed a cab. Sherlock couldn’t possibly walk the whole way back again, not with his ankle in this condition. Frost was in the air, so the chance that Sherlock would make his foot even worse, gradually grew.

The cab stopped in Baker Street, right outside 221B. They got out, John paid the cab driver and quickly went inside. It was really freezing now outside. Suddenly, Sherlock’s phone rang.  
“Yes?” he said. He never said his name, because you never knew what kind of person would call. It could be a criminal.  
“Good, will look into it tomorrow, first thing in the morning.” And with that, Sherlock hung up.  
“Case?” John asked, as they went up the stairs.  
Sherlock nodded.  
“Fine, but I won’t leave your side, not until your ankle is properly healed.”   
Sherlock nodded again. He didn’t really mind John having there, he just hoped he wouldn’t make his only friend angry by doing something stupid.

After a few minutes, Sherlock got out of the kitchen with two cups of tea. John was sitting in his chair, checking his email and thinking about another blog topic.  
“Here you go,” Sherlock said, as he put a cup down. John picked it up and looked at Sherlock.  
“Uhm… thank you?” he said questioningly, and took a sip.   
It tasted horrible.   
Sherlock had used the wrong tea leaves and he hadn’t put any sugar in it.  
His flatmate kept looking at John with those big, blue puppy eyes.  
“You don’t like it?” Sherlock asked carefully.  
“It’s… different.” John replied as he took another sip. It felt wrong to scold Sherlock. First, he never scolded Sherlock; second, Sherlock apparently had done his best in making a cup of tea.  
“You don’t like it then.”   
This sounded as a statement, not as a question.  
John carefully put his cup down.  
“If you want to know the truth, these are the wrong tea leaves. I always use the ones from that orange and green box.”  
“Oh,” Sherlock looked a bit sad. He sat down on the couch and took a sip from his own cup. John was right. This did taste dreadful.

Both flatmates looked up at each other and smiled. This was the worst cup of tea after such a lovely dinner, they both thought…


	4. Chapter 4

Bloodied clothes. Gunshots in the distance. Cries for help everywhere.   
Suddenly, a sharp pain enters in his left shoulder and the man falls down.  
His vision begins to blur, until he sees a face. The face is milky white, soft skin, high cheekbones and dark curls.  
“Wh-… Sherlock?”  
The face smiles at him and nods.  
“Thi- this can’t be true. You… you weren’t here when-“  
Long fingers touch his lips and order him, politely, to be silent.  
Then, the milky white hands help him up. There is no more pain now. Only the need to continue this fight.  
John has found a reason to fight.

He wakes up, bathing in sweat, eyes wide open.   
It was just a dream, John tells himself. But what was Sherlock doing there? He shouldn’t, no, couldn’t have been there.  
John glanced at the alarm clock and turned onto his other side once again. He should sleep, not analyze a dream in the middle of the night.  
He sighed and within moments the doctor was asleep again.

The following morning John had awoken with a bad feeling. Something was going on in the apartment and he didn’t like it. It was this certain gut feeling he had.  
He got up quickly, maybe a bit too quick, because his vision blackened for a split second, and walked towards the kitchen. He smelled the burnt food before he saw it.  
Sherlock stood there before the kitchen sink, trying to manage a few things at the same time. He was only wearing his long pyjama trousers and his back looked actually quite gorgeous.  
John could see the well-defined muscles tensing and relaxing whilst Sherlock was bustling about in the kitchen.  
John caught himself staring at this man’s bare back, and shook his head.   
“Not gay, remember,” he mumbled to himself and stepped towards his flatmate.  
“Sherlock, what the HELL are you doing?!”   
Sherlock turned around. Little pearls of sweat had formed on his forehead, because of the heat of the furnace. His cheeks were flushed.   
John swallowed loudly. A lump had formed in his throat. Damn, this man was absolutely stunning and cute at the same time.  
“Making breakfast,” Sherlock replied, his face showing no emotion at all.  
John shook his head again. Focus now, because the kitchen might burn down and you wouldn’t even notice it, because you are staring as a complete fool at your flatmate, he thought.

The army doctor’s instincts kicked in and John quickly turned down the gas, took the pan of the furnace and threw it into the sink. Apparently, Sherlock was trying to make omelettes, just like John had done earlier this week, but failed miserably at it. Then he directed his attention to the toaster. Sherlock had put the timer to eight minutes, instead of the normal two minutes, so the toast had become a fragile, black piece of what used to be bread. John threw that into the bin and put a new piece of bread in. He set the timer correctly and turned around to face Sherlock.  
“That could’ve been dangerous, you know that right?”  
Sherlock nodded, He looked like a child that just had been scolded and John pitied him.  
“Cheer up, I’ll make us some breakfast,” John winked at his friend. “I’ll even teach you how to manage in the kitchen by yourself.”  
Apparently that did the trick, because Sherlock seemed to lighten up again.

Within moments the two friends had eaten breakfast (John more than Sherlock, but that didn’t matter) and had also cleaned up the kitchen.  
“Hurry John, put on some clothes and let’s go. DI Lestrade is waiting for us,” Sherlock yelled to John whilst walked towards his room.  
John then remembered the phone call last night. And Sherlock’s foot.  
“Shouldn’t you rest you leg?” He yelled back as he put the last plate in the cupboard.  
“Yes, I know, but my foot is less painful now.”  
“What about your cold then?” John walked towards his own room to put on some clothes and wash up. He scratched his chin. Could do with a shave, too.  
Right at that moment Sherlock’s head appeared around the corner of John’s room.  
“No time to work on your facial appearance, John. And my cold is also gone. So let’s go!”  
“How did you...? Oh, never mind. But I’m keeping an eye on you, because I know for a fact that your foot is far from fully healed.” John replied as he put on some decent clothes.

Fifteen minutes later, the two flatmates were sitting on the backseat of the cab.  
“Where are we going?”  
“Crime scene.”  
“Right, could you be more specific?”  
“Woman murdered, late 30s. Nothing seems to be missing, according to Lestrade, but the killer left a number behind.”  
John nodded. Thank God it wasn’t a child. Those are the worst cases, and John really hated those.  
“Sherlock, can I ask you a question?”  
“You just did. In fact, you’ve already asked three questions,” Sherlock started and took a glance at his friend. John’s forehead was already forming a frown. “But continue anyway.”  
Just in time. John didn’t really like it when Sherlock was being a wise guy, but that was Sherlock for you.  
“Why did you try to make breakfast this morning? You know you are not an expert in that field.”  
“Can’t blame a man for trying. I noticed that you could do it, so I figured I could do it too. Well, at least try it.”  
There, another frown on John’s face. Sherlock felt a lump of sadness forming inside of him. He had offended his friend again. Furthermore, he just wanted to say a truthful answer. “I did it for you, because you always take care of me.” He wanted to say it so badly, but the words just wouldn’t come out of his mouth.  
The cab then arrived at the destination. The consulting detective and the doctor got out of the cab and Sherlock shoved some British pounds into the cab driver’s hand, before walking towards the crime scene.  
Agent Donovan was there to greet the two partners.  
“Hello there. Freak.” She said, in a bitchy and stone-cold way.  
Something there just snapped inside Sherlock. He turned to look at the woman who had called him ‘freak’ once too many times now. The word that once was an echo, now turned into a beating rhythm in Sherlock’s head.  
“Look now, ‘agent’, I don’t mind that you are on your period now and gained four, no, five pounds because you’ve been eating too much lately. I don’t care for you, or for the fact that Anderson doesn’t want you to ‘scrub his floors’, but you should really think about how you greet people, because there is absolutely no reason for you to point at me, as the start of all your problems. You should think that maybe it’s because you are always so aggressive towards other people, that those people normally don’t like you. Maybe it’s because you are in fact, just not a nice woman to begin with. And remember, I may be calm now, but that could be totally different next time we meet and you decide to call me a ‘freak’ againI can do things much worse than this.” Sherlock said angrily with gritted teeth. God, how much he hated that woman right now.   
John just stood there, with his mouth and eyes wide open. What just happened?  
“Sherlock, murder, remember?” he asked, as he tugged on Sherlock’s sleeve. Sherlock still looked with a poisonous look at agent Donovan while he was being led by John. Donovan just stood there, frozen right on the spot.  
“Sherlock, I think you really hurt her feelings.” John mumbled as he further led his friend away from the agent, and towards the only fancy looking house in the street.  
At that point, Sherlock turned his gaze towards his friend. It gave John goosebumps, for he saw anger, but also immense sadness in those icy sapphire eyes. Maybe agent Donovan had hurt Sherlock more than Sherlock had hurt her...


	5. Chapter 5

The moon was already high up in the sky before John and Sherlock walked home, their pace slower than usual.  
“I told you we should’ve gotten a cab,” John said. Sherlock just shrugged and looked straight ahead.  
“No need, I’m perfectly alright.”  
“No, you’re not. You’re just hurting yourself by doing this.” And hurting me, in the process, John thought, but he didn’t say it out loud.  
“Doing what, John?” Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at John. John stopped as well. He was getting a bit annoyed with Sherlock and his ‘all-is-fine’ act.  
“This. Acting like everything’s alright, acting all high and mighty. And don’t say you’re fine, because you’re not and I can tell.” John was worried for his friend, because something was definitely wrong, and Sherlock just wouldn’t tell him what.  
Sherlock sighed, turned around and continued his way. They were almost at the apartment and he just wanted to go home and play his violin. Or curl up on the couch. He never was any good at such conversations and Sherlock caught himself just wanting to flee the scene.  
But John grabbed Sherlock’s wrist.  
“Sherlock, please tell me what’s wrong. What happened this morning with agent Donovan?” John asked, almost pleading.  
Sherlock turned around again. John looked so sad. God, how much he wanted to hug his friend and never let go…  
“I- It’s nothing.” Sherlock was almost choking on his own words. Why couldn’t he just say the truth? John was still looking at his best friend, pleading him with his eyes to tell the truth, and telling him that everything would be fine, if he just said what was on his mind.  
Suddenly, Sherlock became aware of John’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. They were both wearing gloves, but Sherlock could feel the warmth, radiating from his friend. The choking feeling Sherlock had, just a few moments ago, was already beginning to dissolve. The fog in his mind seemed to lift and he knew he could tell what really happened to him this morning.  
“It’s just that…” he began, and took a deep breath. All this sentimental stuff, he wasn’t good at it, not one bit. “Agent Donovan called me ‘freak’ and something just… snapped.”   
John waited patiently. He was actually quite relieved, because this was the first time Sherlock said something about his feelings.  
“Oh, you must think I’m a fool, but I had a bad dream a few days ago and ever since that dream the word ‘freak’ has been echoing through my mind.” Sherlock rambled on as he averted his gaze from John and looked at the ground. He was actually afraid to look into John’s eyes. Damn, he just wanted to curl up and disappear…  
“Sherlock,” John sighed and loosened his grip on Sherlock’ wrist, without letting go. “I don’t think you’re a fool. You are brilliant and amazing and this just shows that you’re a human being and not a machine.”   
The consulting detective looked up. He didn’t expect such an answer. He had hoped for it, but didn’t expect it.  
John felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. Sherlock’s eyes seemed to pierce John’s soul. His flatmate was also standing quite close to him and they were holding hands. Sort of, that is. A few people walked passed and John could feel their eyes on his back. He quickly let go of his friend’s wrist.  
“Thank you,” Sherlock mumbled in a low voice.  
“For what?”  
“For… you know. Just being here for me, saying the right words and such. I was, no, I’m always afraid of losing you, be it death or you moving out and settling down with one of your girlfriends.”   
“Sherlock, why would you lose me? You’re everything to me and-“ John closed his mouth. He had just blurted out the words without thinking about their meaning, and that was definitely not meant to happen.  
Sherlock listened to the words and saw immediately that John realized too late he was saying such things. John was now turning red and he quickly averted his gaze. John looked so cute, Sherlock though, and he took John’s hand.  
“Let’s go,” he said, as he led John towards the apartment. “Before we catch a cold.”

The two men arrived several minutes later at their home. Mrs. Hudson was doing the dishes apparently, because you could hear her singing along with a song on the radio and the clattering sound of china plates and cups.  
John had been quiet the rest of the way, thinking about what he had said and why he had said it. One side was telling him, that it was the truth. The other side just kept on repeating ‘not gay!’.  
Sherlock went up the stairs, followed by his blogger. His foot was still hurting him, but he couldn’t care less at this moment. Somehow, he felt relieved after the, sort of awkward, conversation with his friend.   
When John had arrived in the living room, he started to take off his coat. His back was facing Sherlock and he didn’t hear, or see, Sherlock approaching him quietly. It took quite some time to fully comprehend what was going on...


	6. Chapter 6

When John was taking his coat off, Sherlock had the sudden urge to hold him and protect him.  
The consulting detective took two large steps (even though it hurt him physically) and wrapped his arms around John’s chest, placing his head between John’s head and shoulder.  
Sherlock inhaled deeply. This was John’s smell and this was his home. Wherever John would be, that would be Sherlock’s home. Sherlock smiled gently. His life was complete now.  
John, on the other hand, stood frozen in place as soon as Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. He felt the warm breath in his neck, and satin curls tickling his ear. Without warning, a tingling sensation started to spread through John’s body, and he was sure his heart had skipped a few beats.  
“Thank you, John, for everything,” Sherlock said, and the ex-army doctor felt the low vibrations of Sherlock’s voice coarsing through his whole being. It only intensified the earlier tingling feeling. John felt his cheeks turning red.  
“Erm... You’re welcome?” John asked, somewhat insecure about this whole event. Sherlock smiled again and hugged his friend even harder before letting go.  
John turned around and looked directly into the eyes of the man who had, emotionally, saved his life. If it wasn’t for this consulting detective, John would probably be lying six feet under the ground, between six wooden boards.   
Without forcing himself, Sherlock leaned in closer, closing his eyes and letting his lips softly collide with John’s.   
For a split second, John was confused, again, but he soon enough realized that this was what he had wanted all along. He reached up and with both hands he cupped Sherlock’s face gently, and deepened the kiss.  
Both men knew, from this moment onward, their bond would only grow stronger, because what they felt for eachother was true love.  
Sherlock pulled back and whispered with his husky voice: “I will never let you go. I love you, John Watson. Always have, and always will be.”  
John was absolutely flabbergasted. The great Sherlock Holmes saying that he loves the plain ex-army doctor? But John smiled. “I- I love you too, Sherlock.”  
John had been missing something up until now, but not anymore.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a very cheesy ending, but it's my first fanfiction ever, so I hope you guys liked it. Kudos and comments are always welcome.


End file.
